


Sinful Days and Nights

by Gerec, orphan_account



Series: The Dirty Bad [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bestiality, Bottom Erik Lehnsherr, Breeding, Consensual Somnophilia, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, Forced Bonding, Gladiators, Group Sex, Knotting, Lactation Kink, M/M, Master/Slave, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Orgy, Porn With Plot, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Sexual Slavery, Somnophilia, Voyeurism, forced pleasure, werewolf Logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-18 16:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10620375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of extremelydirtybadwrongPWPs, focused mainly (but not exclusively!) on one Charles Xavier. One shots and ficlets written individually or together by the authors. Beware the tags.1. Roman/Gladiator AU: Charles is the Markos' pleasure slave. He's also the main attraction at the feast they throw in honor of General Shaw. Aka Charles + gladiators + public sex - Part 12. Logan is a werewolf who takes wolf form each full moon and is mated to human Charles.3. Shaw is Genosha's Royal Chancellor who forces a bond with virgin Prince Erik. Alpha/omega, age difference, breeding, forced bond.4. Roman/Gladiator AU - Part 25. Mob AU: Omega!Charles returns home after his time as a mob boss's surrogate. His stepfather Kurt is keen to continue what Lehnsherr started. Lactation kink.6.*NEW*Mob AU - Part 2: Kurt signs Charles up for another surrogacy contract, putting him in the middle of a mob war. More lactation kink.





	1. Gladiator AU - Part 1

“Open your mouth.”

He obeys immediately, having learned the lesson long ago; that it would always, _always_ be worse if he hesitated, or gods forbid, put up a fight. Once, he fought them with everything he had, and suffered the bruises gladly.

That is, until they started punishing Raven in his stead.

Fingers card through his hair, yanking hard enough to make him wince, and a cock – swollen and already leaking – is pushed unceremoniously past his lips. He closes his eyes to the familiar smell and taste of it, a mix of Cain’s sweat and seed, his stepbrother’s dregs left inside Charles from the night before. It’s a routine to which he’s become accustomed over the course of months and years; falling asleep and then waking up with Cain still lodged deep inside of him. Most days, Cain is already half way done by the time Charles opens his eyes, a heavy body sprawled across his back, cock pounding him into the bed. But there are occasions when Cain prefers to use his mouth instead, wanting to drag out the act and revel in Charles’ humiliation. There is nothing his stepbrother enjoys more after all, than to see Charles debase himself for his pleasure.

The fingers in his hair give a warning squeeze, and Charles responds, humming around the thick flesh in his mouth. He swallows, and then holds himself still, letting his throat flutter around the shaft before sliding off slowly. Dragging his tongue over the slit draws a pleased groan from Cain’s lips, and sucking and licking both balls makes Cain gasp with need. Soon enough Charles finds his mouth being fucked quickly and ruthlessly, the entire length being shoved down his throat as he tries desperately to breathe.

“Your fucking mouth,” Cain pants, as he grabs Charles’ head with both hands, shoving in until he’s flush against Charles’ face. “I love fucking your mouth. Almost as much as I love fucking your ass, you little slut. Gods! Yeah I’m gonna—”

Cain comes hard with a noisy grunt, bucking his hips as a wave of bitterness hits the back of Charles’ throat. Even though he’s expecting it he still gags, half choking, half inhaling it, the sticky fluids threatening to leak past the tight seal around his mouth. He forces himself to swallow it all, ignoring the foulness of both taste and texture, and tries to forget how many times he’s sucked Cain’s prick just this week, and how many more are sure to follow.

He is rewarded with a pat on his head when Cain finally pulls out, satisfied now that he’s pumped every last drop into Charles’ gaping mouth. His stomach roils in protest as Cain wanders around the room, using the chamber pot before shrugging into a cream colored tunic. Charles remains naked and on his knees beside the bed, glad to be largely ignored until a knock on the door announces the next step to his daily degradation.

“Come in.”

Luckily, it’s Ororo that enters the chamber, and not his stepfather Kurt; at least he’ll be allowed his breakfast without the indignity of a second helping of come. She pointedly does not look in his direction, though Charles has long become inured to her bearing witness to his shame, waiting patiently for Cain to give his detailed instructions for the day.

“Feed him well, take him for a bath,” Cain orders, as Ororo listens dutifully with a bowed head, “I want him thoroughly cleaned inside and out, then shaved and oiled. Prep him and then plug him with the largest phallus…he’s going to get a good workout tonight, and I don’t want to risk any damage.”

A shudder runs down Charles’ spine at Cain’s words; he can only guess the fate his stepbrother has waiting for him, given those particular directions. He had known all week that the Markos would be hosting a party at the ludus to curry favor with Sebastian Shaw, just one of many welcoming the General home from his recent campaign abroad. It makes him recoil inwardly at the thought of having to service yet another person against his will, to be made nothing more than a sex slave in his own home.

“Get up,” Cain says, grabbing Charles by the arm and hauling him to his feet, grinning maliciously as he gives Charles’ buttocks a resounding smack. “Go with her, and get yourself ready. When you come back, you can sleep on the bed. I suggest you rest up for the party.”

The word ‘party’ is delivered with a lascivious sneer, and Charles understands well enough that _he_ is meant to be the night’s entertainment. He pulls away – an involuntary flinch that makes Cain growl in warning – and is quickly wrenched back into his stepbrother’s arms as the usual threat is whispered in his ear.

“Behave. Or I’ll have Raven take your place.”

It’s this threat and more that holds Charles captive to the depravities of his so-called family; the image of his beloved sister, stripped nude and paraded like chattel in front of a dozen leering gladiators forever seared into his brain. He can’t stomach the thought of Raven on her knees for Kurt, sucking his prick; doesn’t want Cain abusing her instead of Charles, chaining her to his bed, forcing pain and pleasure on her with those rough and bruising hands…

He manages to hold still this time, when Cain leans in for a kiss, biting down at Charles’ bottom lip with a pleased hum. Another slap on his ass, and then Cain is striding out the door, leaving Charles alone with Ororo who quickly rushes to hand him his clothing.  
  
“Here, put this on,” she says, her voice soothing and her eyes kind, though her smile is weak and strained. “And then let’s get you some breakfast.”

She turns away to give him some semblance of privacy, something sorely lacking in almost all parts of Charles’ life, letting him use the chamber pot too before slipping on his own tunic. Everything he wears is threadbare and too short or too tight, designed to reveal as much of his skin as possible for the Markos’ viewing pleasure.

Once he’s ready, Ororo leads them out of Cain’s bed chamber and through the courtyard, taking the shortest path through the complex to the kitchens. Unfortunately, Raven has already been sent to the market with Anne-Marie and Sean to procure fresh ingredients, leaving Charles to take his meal of wheat bread and dates on his own.

“How is she?” he asks Ororo, as she hands him a glass of water. He downs the contents in one long, greedy gulp, trying – and only somewhat succeeding – to wash away the taste of Cain from the back of his throat. “Does she…is she well?”

Ororo sighs. “Raven is fine. The others are looking out for her, and as long as she keeps her head down and does as she’s told, the Dominus and his son leave her alone.”

“I’m glad,” Charles replies, chewing his food slowly, and ignoring the pitying look from the woman who had been his father’s – and thus Charles’ most trusted slave. “I had hoped for kindness from all of you, after things…changed. I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my sister.”

Ororo smiles again, though the expression isn’t much better than the one before, still edged with regret and shared sorrow. “I wish there was more we could do for you, young Master Charles. But slaves we are, and slaves we remain…you’re the only Roman citizen among all of us, and the only one who’d been intended for a different life. And even you are bound here now to serve at the Dominus’ will, as long as your sister’s life is at stake.”

“You must think me so selfish,” Charles says, with a shake of his head. “To protect Raven, at the expense of you all. If I could, I would--”

“Things aren’t so different now, you know, from the way they were when your father lived,” Ororo interrupts gently, dismissing Charles’ objections with a wave of her hand. “It is _you_ unfortunately, who suffers the most. And perhaps Jean and Angel who are required to service the Dominus in his bed. Let us hope that more don’t suffer your fates for the sake of tonight’s ‘festivities’.”

She says no more then, busying herself with her task list as Charles quietly ponders Ororo’s words. He had been a child still when his father had died from an unnamed illness, and not much older when his mother had remarried her late husband’s close friend and associate. If he had only been more aware of the precariousness of their finances, and less enamored with studying the teachings of Plato, perhaps he could have stopped the Markos from stealing his inheritance…

…and when his mother died unexpectedly, from forcing Charles to share their beds.

“Charles.”

He looks up at Ororo, who is standing in front of him and offering her hand. Now that breakfast has been consumed, it’s time for Charles to head to the bathing rooms to be scrubbed clean. It would be a thrill to be rid of Cain’s filth from every inch of his body, if he didn’t know how soon he would have to suffer the man’s touch – and gods know how many more – all over again.

“Sorry,” Charles answers, and lets Ororo pull him up from his chair and into a quick hug. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

\---

They are both surprised to find the baths in use so early in the day, stopping abruptly at the entrance when they spot a few of Kurt’s gladiators and their trainer lounging at one end of the marble pool. Azazel nods briefly to acknowledge Ororo, and then at Charles, the latter finding himself suddenly under the intense scrutiny of the others gathered in the room. Two of the men Charles recognizes easily as Victor and Logan, brothers from Gaul that were purchased by his father Brian many moons ago. The third is a man he has seen only briefly in passing; a new acquisition by Kurt just in these past few months – Erik of Judea, a prisoner of war uprooted from his homeland and sold into slavery.

He does his best not to flinch, knowing well how he must look in their eyes, clad in a white tunic that is whisper thin and barely long enough to cover the swell of his arse. Once, he had wanted to be a fighter like them, skilled in sword play and hand and hand combat; once, he would have been their Dominus, heir to the most renowned ludus in Rome.

Now, he’s no more than a common whore, slave to his masters’ whims, his body an object of casual lust and imagined violence for anyone with roving eyes.

“Doctore,” Ororo greets with a polite smile and an icy glare. “I’m sure I can count on you to keep your men in line, hm? I don’t want my charge harassed while he’s in the baths.”

 Victor growls under his breath, but Azazel only chuckles at the warning, waving away her concerns. “My men know better than to displease the one who runs this household. The young master shall leave here quite unmolested.”

The reference to his former status stings, though Charles can do nothing but ignore it, moving with Ororo to occupy the opposite end of the pool. He can feel their eyes on him as Ororo helps him shed his clothes; can hear their collective intake of breath when the jeweled plug is removed and last night’s stale semen starts leaking from his hole, a slow trickle down the length of his bare thigh.

Ororo wipes it away quickly with a cloth but it’s much too late; they’ve all seen him for what he is, a receptacle for Cain’s seed, the plug he’s forced to wear holding it in day and night. He slips into the bath and dunks his head underwater, and forces himself to ignore the humiliation that burns him like ice. When he resurfaces, the murmuring voices abruptly stop, and it’s almost worse that the gladiators aren’t mocking him outwardly, pretending that they don’t all know what he is, and what they’d undoubtedly do to him themselves if they had the chance.

The men continue to leer – Victor unabashedly, while the others at least have the decency to be more circumspect – as he scrubs himself clean and then exits the pool for the rest of Ororo’s administrations. She turns him away from the prying eyes at least, so they can’t see anything as she shaves him – armpits and legs and the curls around his penis. But there’s nowhere to hide when Ororo slathers oil on him from head to toe, and the others are practically salivating by the time she inserts gloved fingers inside of him, opening him up as Cain instructed.  

He stands perfectly still and stares straight ahead, as she works him clinically with two, and then three long fingers. By this point, Victor isn’t even trying to hide his excitement, and is enthusiastically pumping himself to the sight of Charles being prepped. The others too are staring, hands moving under the water, stroking themselves as Ororo helps Charles lay face down on the stone bench and spread his legs. She pets him soothingly, and whispers encouragement in his ear, and then she’s dripping oil all over the leather covered phallus – the largest of the three that Cain had custom made for Charles – and gently easing it inside his throbbing hole.

Even with the oil and the prep - not to mention Cain’s thick cock inside of him all night – it burns, and Charles gasps, hands scrabbling at the end of the bench for support. Ororo is careful and slow, pressing in only a little at a time, easing it back gently after a few moments of uncomfortable stretch. But the phallus is both thicker and longer than any man by far, and thus rarely used. In fact, Charles has only been penetrated by it once before, a prelude to the night that both Kurt and Cain had mounted him together, father and son fucking into him as he screamed.

It does not bode well, Charles notes, for tonight’s feast.

He tries to relax, breathing in and out to the sound of the oily phallus pressing him open, as well as the slap slap of Azazel’s men as they pleasure themselves to his shame. Charles has never felt more exposed, moaning helplessly along with Ororo’s every slow drag and push. He too is getting aroused from the overwhelming sensations, erection trapped between his stomach and the bench; even his embarrassment isn’t enough to will away his body’s natural response, stuffed full as he is and gasping for breath. And by the time the entire phallus is embedded inside of him, he’s writhing and desperate to come; only the thought of Cain’s displeasure and ensuing reprisal enough to pull him back from the edge.

The men have no such concern and Victor groans noisily as he comes, cursing in his native Gaul, the sounds bouncing from wall to ceiling in the large bathing room. The others are quieter, though still loud enough for Charles to hear, a few grunts and low sighs as they spill one after the other into the water.

They might as well have marked Charles’ skin directly with their seed, their pleasure derived from his unwilling submission to the Markos’ whims.

He lays quietly on the bench, legs spread and breathing softly, counting the sky blue tiles in the patterns on the floor - tiles that his father had selected to match Charles’ eyes, when he’d had the baths built so long ago for his wife and their only son. There’s splashing, and low murmuring that announces the exit of the gladiators from the pool, which Charles promptly ignores, unwilling to turn his head and see the expressions on their faces. But then unexpectedly he’s being lifted without warning, two sets of hands hauling him up by the forearms and setting him onto his feet.

The surprise from being touched makes him clench tight, which in turn makes him moan, wobbling precariously as the phallus sinks deeper from this upright angle. He might have fallen over then if not for one of the men - Erik, standing on his left - who catches him easily and pulls him close. The press of his back against a hard chest makes Charles’ breath hitch and his skin tingle, as does the muscled thigh pushing inadvertently against the phallus, making him flush with embarrassment and arousal both.

“You alright?” Erik asks, soft and surprisingly gentle. It makes Charles inexplicably angry to hear what must be pity in the man’s voice, and he pulls away abruptly, moving to Ororo’s side and grabbing his tunic from her outstretched hands.

“Yes.”

He turns around and gets dressed as quickly as he can, still feeling all those unwelcome eyes burning a hole in his back. There’s shuffling, and a farewell from Azazel to Ororo, and then the men are filing out of the chambers one by one, clad in nothing but their loincloths; all except for Victor who pauses to give him a sly wink, face smug and words full of unwelcome promise.

“See you tonight, little one.”

Charles shivers as Victor turns away chuckling, his gut twisting as the hulking frame disappears through the door.


	2. Logan is a werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is a werewolf who takes wolf form each full moon and is mated to human Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the Tags: Bestiality, knotting, somnophilia

Charles woke when a cold nose pushed at his cheek.

“Mm, oh, are you back?” he asked, sleepily reaching up and burying his hand in Logan’s fur. In response, Logan began licking insistently at his neck, stepping closer to Charles on the bed, his massive paw pinning the cover down next to Charles’s side.

“Mm,” Charles moaned again, beginning to sleepily wiggle out of his clothes.

Logan’s breath picked up, puffing against Charles’s skin as it was bared. Logan nosed along his shoulder, his ribs, impatiently pawing the blankets down as Charles kicked off his boxers and rolled over in the cool night air.

He relaxed against the bed on his back and sighed drowsily as Logan crawled over him, nose nudging at the side of Charles’s swelling cock.

“Please, oh please,” Charles murmured, spreading his legs. He moaned when Logan began to lick at him, messily and noisily, the sounds loud in the quiet bedroom, his long rough tongue dragging over the sensitive skin of Charles's dick. Logan settled in closer, licking harder at Charles’s shaft, over and over while Charles’s breath hitched.

It felt so good. Charles closed his eyes and moved his hips up as Logan started lower and lapped at his balls, making them bounce. Logan tried to go further back but this felt too good. Charles blindly reached down and grabbed the scruff of Logan’s neck, urging him back up to continue to lick his cock and balls relentlessly. Logan obliged, a low growl starting deep in his throat, and soon Charles was aching and tingling and his groin was soaked in Logan’s spit. Occasionally a fang would graze the side of Charles’s thigh, only enough to make him shudder in want.

“Okay,” he said finally, releasing his hold on Logan’s fur. He stroked over Logan’s head - the same size as his human form, he was massive as a wolf - and rolled over.

Excited, Logan snarled and barked (though he flatly denied any such canine behavior whenever Charles teased him when the moon was past its peak) and shoved his face in Charles’s crease enough to pitch him forward until he caught his balance. Before Charles could right himself Logan’s tongue was on the back of his balls, so he just dropped to his chest, rather than get on all fours. He buried his face in the mattress, shoving the pillow aside, and let it happen.

By the time Logan got to his hole it felt long overdue. He groaned gutturally as Logan licked him with intent, the rough surface of his tongue dragging over and over against his puckered opening. Charles was hard and aching but didn’t dare touch himself yet. He still had to prepare himself, opening the way for Logan’s cock, and if he tried to stroke himself now, when Logan was licking him out with soft snarls and a paw on his calf, holding him down in the same place he would put his hand, he would come.

He clenched and unclenched the sheets while he sobbed as Logan didn’t let up: Just licked his sensitive and twitching hole over and over and over, the force of it soon rocking Charles forward and down on the bed.

Finally, Logan pulled away, still growling, and licked over Charles’s ass, first the right cheek, then the left, and kept licking him there as Charles fumbled back, fingers slick with lube, and stretched himself open as quickly as possible, his hand bumping into Logan’s furred chest and throat as he did.

At last he pulled his arm back. As soon as he did Logan mounted him. Charles curled his arm under his chest to support the extra weight as Logan started thrusting, missing his hole on the first two tries until his aim righted and he sank into Charles.

Charles cried out at the stretch of his inhuman dick, so large in him, Logan a heavy, furry weight on his back, paws clutching Charles’s sides as he began to fuck wildly, the moon’s hold making him relentless. Like this, Charles was pinned and couldn’t thrust back the way he did when they fucked when Logan was human. He could only brace himself on his elbows and moan over and over as Logan bred him.

He worked a hand back and started to jerk himself off, pleasure sparking in every inch of him. Soon he could feel it, he could feel Logan get faster and lose some of his rhythm and knew it was coming. He began to pull faster and harder on his cock. Logan’s cock started to grow until he couldn’t pull out anymore, just kept thrusting in deeper and deeper with his bulbous dick and Charles came, clenching down on the girth of the knot inside him.

Charles and Logan panted for a minute, Charles barely holding himself up with shaking knees. They finally gave out and he collapsed, Logan covering him and making it difficult to breathe under his weight and fur, which rubbed pleasantly along the bare skin of Charles’s ass and back.

He grew drowsy and began to drift toward sleep, Logan’s cock pulsing inside him. Logan turned his head so it was resting against Charles’s shoulder. Charles yawned.

His body was full of pleasure. He could hear himself moaning, feel the sheets rubbing against him, feel a sexual ache between his legs where something was fucking him.

Charles woke a little more, enough to realize Logan, still in wolf form, was fucking him and clearly had been for a while, given the state of his hard cock and Logan’s growls.

“Ohh,” he groaned, arching his back and ass to give Logan better access. He imagined how it had been: Logan waking up to his softened cock outside of Charles, Charles stretched out and asleep next to him, half underneath him the way they slept together when Logan was a wolf, one paw on Charles’s back. He pictured Logan nosing at his wet and loose hole, lapping up the drying come on Charles’s thighs and ass, getting more and more excited the more he licked over Charles’s hole, where he smelled so strongly of them together. How Logan probably kept smelling and licking until, cock engorged, he had crawled over Charles’s sleeping body and started fucking it, cock sinking easily into his ass. How he had watched Charles’s lax and soft face while he bred his mate.

Groaning, Charles reached down and fumbled with his leaking dick, pulling himself off in time to Logan’s rapid thrusts. It wasn’t until after Logan knotted him, cock swollen and huge in his ass, that he came this time, come shooting over the ruined sheets.


	3. The Omega Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Shaw is the Royal Chancellor, who has been waiting years for Genosha’s Prince Erik to come of age. And now that he has, he’s not about to let Xavier have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Alpha/omega, forced bonding, breeding, mpreg, noncon, age difference (Erik is 17 here and both Sebastian and Charles are much older).  
> Pairings: Erik/Sebastian Shaw, Erik/Charles mentioned
> 
> I’ve wanted to write more bottom!Erik for a while now, and also some dirtybad a/o forced breeding fic. Ergo - this happened. Also, I read a story a long time ago on the kinkmeme that explored the idea of a permanent bond between alpha and omega, where the omega would no longer be able to stand being touched by anyone else, even somebody they loved. I borrowed the idea to use as back story...in case I ever want to write a follow up :D

To Sebastian, the boy looked soft and almost welcoming, his brow smooth and lips slightly parted as the potion took its effect, rendering him unconscious in a deep and dreamless sleep.

He did not wake when Sebastian stripped him of his pants and tunic, baring the Omega Prince of Genosha to the covetous eyes of his Royal Chancellor – soon to be his mate.

He did not wake when Sebastian explored his naked body, stroking the smoothness of his warm skin; nor when he pressed his lips against Erik’s cheek, trailing down his broad chest and trim waist to the thatch of hair between his legs, tasting the sweetness that leaked from his slowly hardening prick.

He did not wake when Sebastian gagged him and flipped him onto his stomach, binding his hands above his head, and slept through the humiliation of having his ankles tied to his thighs and his ass spread wide, a pillow tucked carefully under his hips.

He did not wake when Sebastian slipped a tongue inside his virgin entrance, licking him until his body’s growing state of arousal flooded the alpha’s eager mouth with his slick.

And he did not wake until Sebastian had three fingers lodged deep inside of him, readying him to be mounted, and bred; the Prince shivered and clenched tight, shouting as he tried to get free of his bindings. He let out a muffled scream when Sebastian leaned down to nuzzle him, and chuckled menacingly into his ear --

“Did you really think I would let Xavier have you,” Sebastian asked, and laughed again as Erik tried fruitlessly to speak through his gag. “You let him touch you, right there out in the open, by the lake where anyone could see…oh yes I had you followed, and my men told me everything that you did with him. You let that old scoundrel use you like some common dock whore; you spread your legs and let him taste your sweet cunt, didn’t you? Before an engagement, or even an official offer of courtship from Westchester! Imagine the scandal if the whole kingdom knew, just how easily their precious Prince fell for sweet nothings whispered in his ear!”

Throughout his accounting, Erik continued to strain against his bonds, arching to get away from the body pressing him into the bed. He seemed most intent on struggling, and trying to get free, as though he believed Sebastian would not have him if he fought hard enough; it was a folly that Sebastian sought to dispel immediately, if only to have Erik save his energy instead for their coupling.

“I will give it to you plain, Your Highness,” Sebastian explained, and Erik stilled beneath him, even as long fingers continued to work in and out of that delectably tight passage. “I will mate with you today and we will be bonded, alpha and omega as I put a child in your womb. We will be married within the month, and you will forget you ever heard the name Xavier, or your dear mother the Queen will never leave the tower in which I have secured her, for the rest of her days.”

Erik screamed again, but Sebastian could feel the Prince’s resolve slowly crumble, the fight draining out of him as he lay obediently on their marriage bed. It was enough to fuel his own lust for more; to knot the boy and fill him with seed, and take what belonged to Sebastian by right, as reward for his fealty to the Lehnsherrs and his long and dedicated service to their lands.

He slid his fingers out – they were sopping wet, and Sebastian licked them with glee, savoring again the sweet nectar that Erik’s body leaked as it made him ready for mounting. He moved carefully into position behind Erik then, kneeling as willing supplicant before his beautiful Virgin Prince.  He guided Erik’s hips in place and held him still, and marveled at the sight before him – Erik’s hole was swollen pink and tender, and oh how Sebastian wanted to sink his cock into him, rock hard and dripping, the urge to fuck his omega overpowering.

Erik gasped and keened as he slowly pushed in, body shuddering against his will, until Sebastian was completely buried in the tight clench of all that hot, smooth flesh. It was incredible, the way Erik gripped the entire length of him, his cunt molding to his prick like a tailored glove; it was better even than in Sebastian’s dreams, on the many nights he lay planning, and waiting patiently for the right moment to make his move.  

He kissed Erik again, soft and affectionate, and whispered, “Yes, my dear boy…I just _knew_ you’d be perfect.”

\--

All thoughts of his mother - and _Charles_ \- evaporated when Shaw began to move, as he hiked Erik’s hips up for better access, exposing every last inch of him for the taking. It hurt as though his insides were lit on fire, every time Shaw thrust in and pulled out again, though the pain lessened bit by bit, the way made easier by the gushing wetness that coated Shaw’s prick and leaked down his own thighs. He felt his cunt loosen too in slow increments, his muscles relaxing to the intrusion, accommodating the rhythmic push and drag of being ruthlessly breached. Erik realized then with gut wrenching horror - his body cared not at all for the concerns of the mind; it _wanted_ to be fucked by an alpha, and mated, welcoming the permanent bond being forced on him by a man he despised.

He lay there, unable to speak, or move, gasping for breath as Shaw pounded into him, whispering insults and endearments both against Erik’s cheek. It became harder to ignore as it went on and on, the way his blood sang every time Shaw pumped his hips; he dug deep furrows in the sheets as he bucked and writhed, his toes curling as he was fucked steadily and vigorously into the bed.

“You’re mine, Erik. Mine to keep,” Shaw said with an air of promise, and he could hear the satisfied smirk curled on the alpha’s lips. “Mine to fuck, when and where I want. _How_ I want. You belong to _me_ now, my darling boy, and you will never know another’s touch for as long as we both shall live.”

Shaw buried himself to the hilt then and grunted, hitting a spot deep inside Erik that made him moan pitifully through his gag. Every inch of his skin itched and burned for something he couldn’t name, his eyes watering as Shaw battered at it precisely, again and again, until he felt near to bursting. But it still wasn’t enough, not _nearly_ enough; every part of him was sore, and he felt stretched thin and hollow, yet the need to be _filled_ and _knotted_ was overwhelming.

“Gods,” Shaw murmured, nosing the back of his neck, breath hot, where Erik’s bonding mark pulsed and throbbed like a brand. “You’re so good, aren’t you, boy? Taking my cock so beautifully, like I always knew you would. My sweet omega whore.”

 _No_ , he cried, because he wasn’t Shaw’s, would _never_ be his; Erik’s heart belonged to another, and he would not so easily give in. His words were muffled though by the gag, and Shaw continued to pummel him, his strokes faster and more erratic now, until Erik felt as though he’d been split in two. And when Shaw’s cock started to swell, the knot pushing against the walls of his cunt and began to spurt—

Erik screamed as Shaw bit down on him hard, right on the bonding mark; screamed as hot seed flooded his insides and filled him to the brim. It _hurt_ , but it was _glorious_ too, electric and dizzying in turn, and he cried out in an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure, spilling his own orgasm all over the silk sheets. He could feel his muscles contracting involuntarily around Shaw, milking him as the alpha groaned and grunted above him. It seemed to go on forever, Shaw pulsing wet and sticky, until Erik thought he would burst if not for the thick knot locking all of it inside his worn and aching body.

It was horror.

It was ecstasy.

\---

When next he woke he was no longer bound, and Shaw was fucking him again – or still – the way made smooth and easy now from what felt like a gallon of slick and seed. His bottom half was drenched with it, along with the sweat of their coupling, and every inch of his skin smelled like the alpha that was draped over his body. He tried to move, but his head felt heavy and his limbs refused to obey, and Sebastian only laughed to watch him struggle, and just kept rocking his hips.

Then Shaw came again, his knot swelling and locking in place, and shot another load of hot seed deep inside Erik’s cunt. He bit Erik’s bonding mark too – a gentler nip this time, with a soft sweep of his lips –and Erik keened in surprise when white hot pleasure coursed through him, like a lightning bolt surging through his veins. He knew it then, deep down, though he still could not _believe_ it…

The bond had taken hold, and he’d been inexorably claimed.

\---

Shaw kept him in bed for three straight days, letting him out of it only to take water and broth and relieve himself as needed. He was not allowed to clean the seed that his alpha planted inside of him, and so could scarcely move as the hours wore on, so full was he, as he was fucked and knotted and filled to the brim, over and over and over again.

\---

“Congratulations, Your Grace. The Prince is pregnant.”

He kept his face in the pillow and did not move, as Essex pumped his fingers twice, slowly, before he slid them out of Erik’s cunt. The Royal Healer did not bother to cover his nakedness as he moved away, and so Erik curled onto his side instead, and breathed deeply.

“Very good,” Shaw said, full of pride as he ushered the beta out of the room, and came to sit next to him on the bed. “You have done well, my dear boy. Rest now, and I will return soon to take you to the Queen. So we may give her the good news, and make plans for the wedding.”

Shaw left him then, and Erik pulled the covers over his body, his hands curling instinctively to protect his still flat belly. He thought about his unborn child or children, and his mother, and what he needed to do to keep them safe. He thought about Shaw, and how much Erik hated him, and how it made him sick to feel such pleasure in being mounted and bred, how his own body betrayed him every time he was fucked by his alpha. Lastly he thought about Charles, and of the man’s promise to love him forever and to marry him--

He knew Charles would not – _could_ not – have him now, not when he belonged so wholly to another; that Erik could no longer bear the touch of any other alpha, nor could he carry their children to term. He was Shaw’s and Shaw’s alone; now and forever, so long as they lived.

Erik closed his eyes then, and wept.


	4. Gladiator AU - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect there to be a Part 3 but there you have it LOL. I promise, the gladiators DO make their appearance in the next part :D

Lunch is brought to him in Cain’s room, where Charles spends most of the day in bed, the size of the phallus making it both awkward and uncomfortable to move around. He sleeps only fitfully, sprawled on his stomach and legs spread wide, conscious of the way he’s being prepped for an evening of vigorous use. And when he dreams they’re of Cain holding him down, arms pinned above his head as his stepfather pants and huffs, driving into him over and over to the sound of Raven’s screaming. 

Cain pays him a visit sometime in the early afternoon, eager to check on his progress; he takes great pleasure in pumping the phallus gleefully, keen to test the yield of Charles’ tight flesh. He kisses him too, practically devouring him, and delights in every sound he’s able to drag from his stepbrother’s lips. And when he tires of Charles’ mouth he moves ever lower, lavishing his attention along the seal between the phallus and his entrance, tracing eagerly in and around the swollen rim.

He’s still on his hands and knees, Cain’s face buried in his arse when they hear a loud knocking on the bedroom door. He hears his stepfather’s voice call out a greeting, the creak of the handle as it turns, and then Kurt is entering the room in long strides, with Jean and Angel trailing dutifully behind him.

“Are you still at it?” his stepfather snaps, even as Cain grins up at him, licking Charles’ hole like the most delicious treat. “Get up. He has to be dressed and ready before the guests arrive.”

“What else do we need to do with him? He’s going to spend most of the night naked anyway.”

There’s a gusty sigh, and then he’s being shoved face down onto the bed again, and Cain’s presence between his legs is replaced by an exasperated Kurt. “The girls are going to re-oil and then paint him,” he explains, his hands moving to grip Charles’ hips, holding him steady as he starts working the phallus again, slowly pulling it out. “If he’s to be our Ganymede, he needs to look innocent and untouched…at least to start.”

Cain mutters under his breath, but does move away from the bed, letting Angel help him into a handsome blue toga. Charles shudders when the phallus is finally removed from his body, a momentary relief as Kurt immediately thrusts three fingers inside of him, and starts massaging his walls, testing its elasticity.

“Good,” Kurt murmurs, and then slips in a fourth finger. Charles groans as he’s prodded and scissored, and cries out when Kurt rubs deliberately against his sensitive spot. “He’s nice and open. Jean, oil him again and then plug him. The new one with the jewels. Angel will help you finish up when you’re done.”

He sweeps out of room without another word, no doubt headed to his own chambers to get dressed for the party. But Cain doesn’t follow him out as Charles expects; no, he pulls his cock from beneath his toga and starts stroking it, as Jean crosses the room to kneel on the bed. She drizzles the scented oil liberally in and all over Charles’ buttocks, and rubs his sore muscles with her strong, steady hands. Her fall of red hair tickles as she works, brushing lightly against his skin, making his cock throb and his hole clench around her long, slender fingers. It’s a gentler, more considerate touch than he’s ever gotten from either Kurt or Cain, and he’s ashamed at how much he wishes for things to be different; that he was making love to her, as an equal and not master and slave, with neither being forced to follow another’s orders.

His thoughts are rudely interrupted by Cain’s cock pushing into his mouth again, and he’s forced to lick and suck him as Jean continues her work. Cain fucks him steadily, fists curled into his hair, grunting loudly with every careless, brutal rock of his hips.

“That’s enough. Put the plug in and jerk him off.”

The new phallus slides easily into place, a relief after the strain of the previous one. It’s a sensation he’s been conditioned to crave, being stuffed full, as constant a presence in his life as Cain’s unwelcome advances. But Jean’s touch is both novelty and bliss, and Charles can’t help but thrust into her hand, groaning as oiled fingers slide in rhythm to Cain’s frantic pace. His body sings with the desire that’s been building all day, and he spills quickly, his moans of pleasure tipping Cain over the edge too with a lusty bellow.

Charles swallows the bitter seed, licking Cain’s prick clean until he pulls away with a satisfied grunt. Collapsing on the bed he closes his eyes, and lays impassively as two sets of hands return not long afterwards to slather him with oil; Angel and Jean, kneading him thoroughly, intent on covering every inch of him until his skin glistens like burnished gold.

“That was kind of me, wasn’t it?” Cain purrs, settling beside Charles on the bed, hand stroking his hair with feigned affection. “I let you come now, because I know how hard it will be for you tonight. You’re going to get fucked, all night, by a lot of men, Charles. And you’re not to come unless you’re given permission…do you understand?”

He feels sick, his stomach queasy as the reality of Cain’s words solidify in his head. It’s been bad enough, being forced to pleasure the Markos these past few years, but up until now he’s never been made to service any others…

He’d never even _been_ with another man or woman; his first time had been with Kurt, who cared little for Charles’ feelings or comfort, shoving him - frantic and fearful - onto what had been his own mother’s bed.

“Do you understand?” Cain says again, voice laced with menace, yanking Charles’ head off the soft pillows by his hair. “What your duties are going to be tonight? You will be beautiful, and desirable, and pour wine for our honored guest. And you’re going to suck every cock they put in your mouth, and moan every time there’s a cock in your ass or so help me, I will sell Raven to the whore house before the day’s end.”

Someday, Charles vows, he’s going to stab Cain with the sharpest dagger, and rip that black heart right out of his chest.

“Yes, I understand.”

\---

By the time he’s finally led out of Cain’s room, the guests have already begun their feasting, arrayed on couches circling the dining room. The table in the center is laden with the finest foods; boar, venison and suckling pig, along with game birds and dormice – a delicacy favored by the elite, dipped in honey and rolled in poppy seed. Fruits and vegetables of all types and colors finish the tableau, a cornucopia of decadence meant to awe and impress. Angel and Jean are there, along with Anne Marie and many others, pouring wine and serving the food, washing the guests’ fingers between every serving.

Charles is relieved, not to see Raven in their midst.

At one end of the large room a man reclines on the single golden couch, clad in a rich pallium of Tyrian purple and hair crowned in a laurel wreath. He is Kurt’s age or a few years older, with a rugged handsomeness to the steely cut of his jaw and an almost regal bearing.

He must be the guest of honor, Charles notes, the Imperial Legate Sebastian Shaw.

Flanked by his stepfather on one side and Cain on the other, the General seems almost bored with the festivities all around him, his expression dispassionate as he scans the crowded room. But then his sharp gaze fixes onto Charles like a hawk, blue eyes hot and piercing as they slowly rake over his body from head to toe.

The room hushes as he follows behind Ororo, the guests whispering excitedly once he comes to a stop in front of Shaw. He can feel the General assessing him, taking in the glow of his skin under the light of the oil lamps, clad in nothing but a white loin cloth. Charles’ arms are adorned with gold bracelets and his eyes colored with kohl, a story of seduction veiled in innocence. Even the handle to his plug is studded with gems, made by valuables stolen by the Markos from Charles’ own treasury. He is to be cupbearer and lover to Shaw’s Zeus, a role made explicit as he kneels obediently before the General, a heavy, ornate jug of wine placed into his hands.

“He is here to serve you, Sebastian,” Kurt says, full of pride as the General grips Charles’ chin lightly, tipping his head first to the left, and then to the right, inspecting him like a prized mare. He rubs a thumb across Charles’ plush bottom lip, nudging it until Charles opens his mouth dutifully to lick at the tip. “Your Ganymede, for tonight’s festivities.”

“Gorgeous,” Shaw murmurs, seemingly transfixed by the sight of his thumb nestled between Charles’ parted lips. “But does he know how to use that pretty mouth?”

Cain laughs, as ugly and derisive as ever, though he takes care to be polite in his response, “Oh he knows quite well how to suck a cock. He’s had _plenty_ of practice.”

Shaw hums in acknowledgement, and then pulls away so he can maneuver upright into a seated position on the couch. He tilts Charles’ head up to meet his intent gaze, and then smiles as he pats his cheek. “Very good. Show us your skill, boy. Pleasure me well, and I shall reward you handsomely.”

It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to shudder at the General’s words.

It’s not the first time of course, that Charles has been called upon to ‘perform’ in public; the Markos -young and old - are only too happy to use him in and out of the bed chamber. But it’s never been in front of quite so many people before, and Charles finds his hands trembling as he settles dutifully between the General’s legs, pulling the pallium aside carefully to reveal his half-hard prick. He licks the tip of it with a broad swath of his tongue, tasting the salty fluid, tracing the base of the head as the shaft thickens and swells in his hands. Moving slowly, Charles stops at the soft spot above the testis and suckles it gently, before taking first one sac, and then the other within the warmth of his welcoming mouth.  

Shaw hums with approval, and something like relief shoots through his body, knowing that the General is pleased with his performance.

It does not occur to Charles until much later, that what he feels is a twisted sense of pride for being skilled at his own debasement.

He loses himself to the act of it, taking it all down his constricting throat, letting the girth fill his mouth and his senses as he glides along the weighty shaft. There are words spoken – Kurt, or Cain probably, about the way his lips look wrapped tightly around Shaw’s prick, so red and puffy and made for this – and the sounds of drinking and merrymaking from the other guests. All of it he shuts out as he licks and swallows, methodically, and patiently, fucking his mouth onto the General’s cock under the collective gaze of Rome’s wealthy elite.

They’re all watching him still when Shaw finally comes, sometime later, grunting softly as he floods Charles’ mouth with long spurts of hot seed. Ignoring the bitter taste and the ache in his jaw, he swallows all of it down his throat and licks his lips, using his tongue to clean every last inch of the General’s slowly softening prick.

“Very good,” Shaw praises, voice warm and sated, as Charles tucks him deftly back under his expensive garments. He settles back into a more comfortable position, still kneeling at the General’s feet, and takes up the wine jug again as all the assembled guests congratulate the Markos on their perfect, obedient slave.

“Have you had him long,” one of them asks – Nathaniel Essex, a senior official in the Emperor’s court – “he is well trained, and very lovely to behold. I see that he has no markings yet on all that pretty alabaster skin….have you considered adorning him with various piercings?”

“Oh? What kind of piercing did you have in mind?” Surprisingly, it’s Kurt who answers instead of Cain, and Charles balks at his stepfather’s considering tone. “I should not like to see him damaged. He is a pleasurable way to pass the time.”

Essex chuckles, low and dark, and panic stirs in Charles’ gut even as Shaw presses a bit of delectable wild boar between his hungry lips. “Not to worry; I have seen piercings added to many of my own slaves without issue. I say he would suit with a set of nipple rings, with a golden chain linking them together.”

“And I say he would look best with a red hand print or two on that luscious bottom,” a new voice chimes in, the others roaring with amusement as he continues, “and some bruising here and there would not be remiss.”  
  
“I should like to see him in ropes,” another says, as all the while, Shaw feeds him tiny, delicious morsels of the decadent feast. “Stripped and then lashed until he screams for mercy.”

“You would mar that flawless canvas with a whip, Stryker? What a waste of a perfectly good slave.”

“You’ll change your tune I think, as soon as you see tears in those pretty blue eyes.”

He can only listen numbly as they argue on, over all the various ways to use and abuse him, while the General continues his little game, treating Charles as a pampered pet feeding off the scraps from his master’s plate. They all watch avidly as he swallows the offered wine from the General’s cup, and licks the juices dripping from his fingers; this current display will likely be a prelude to Charles’ new pride of place at ‘family’ meals.

“I should like to see him in the throes of pleasure,” Shaw muses, his words slicing neatly across the quickly dissipating chatter. Charles can feel the General’s steely gaze on him as he speaks, as surely as the hand that’s gently brushing his cheek. “I should like to see him spread out and naked on fine sheets, baring all that loveliness to our admiring eyes. I should like to see his face as he’s being breached by a cock; watch him moan and writhe as he’s being fucked. Will he come without being touched? How many times will he come? And how many cocks can he take before he’s all but begging for mercy?”

Charles’ gut twists with dread but he doesn’t move, his limbs frozen by training and by fear as Shaw’s hand finds a resting place at the curve of his neck and shoulder. There is much murmuring – excited agreement, and sycophantic support for the General’s contribution – and then Kurt is coming to stand next to Charles with a triumphant smirk, and dragging him awkwardly to his feet.

“That is precisely what I had in mind for the rest of this evening’s entertainment,” Kurt announces, and servants immediately bustle in to move the large table from the center, still laden with food, replacing it with a silk covered bed. Then his stepfather gestures to the back of the room with a flourish, where four men – all gladiators, Azazel, and the others from the morning’s bath – are quietly standing at attention. “Great Zeus, our heroes have returned from grueling adventures, performing deeds of great renown in your honor. Will you see them rewarded for their bravery? For their fealty and hard work? Shall we offer them your loyal Ganymede for their pleasure, sire? What say you, o’ mighty king of the gods?”

Shaw’s answering smile – showing wry amusement, and a complete indifference to Charles’ dismay – sends a shiver down his spine; only Kurt’s hands gripping his shoulders keeps him from falling to his knees. “I say…it would please me greatly, to see it so.”


	5. Mob AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omega!Charles returns home after his time as a mob boss's surrogate. His stepfather Kurt is keen to continue what Lehnsherr started.
> 
> Tags: Non-con, lactation kink, Kurt/Charles with references to Erik/Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of background: I originally intended to write 'The Master of Charlton Park' as a PWP because I wanted to explore a new kink. Instead that fic turned into a full blown angsty regency style romance with mutual pining, which, okay is NOT AT ALL how I expected the story to go LOL. So now I've written this modern au of my au to make up for the lack of dirtybadpornz, where Charles is the omega surrogate for mob boss!Erik and his wife, and he's been sent back home some amount of time after the birth of the baby.

It was on the second night of his return that Charles woke to find his stepfather in his bed.

He gasped in shock and tried immediately to wriggle free, though he stopped when he realized it was a futile struggle; Kurt had stripped him of his pajamas and tied his hands above his head, and had Charles pinned beneath his heavy bulk while he nuzzled his chest. Heavy with milk, his breasts were tender and sore to the touch, overfull and sensitive from two days without feeding. The discomfort had become intolerable as the hours had passed, and Charles was increasingly desperate for relief from the building pressure.

That must have been Kurt’s intention from the start, he thought bitterly, and why the drugs to stem his milk production had been purposefully kept from his meals.

Dimly, he thought of the last person that touched him like this as he laid in his bed; Erik, who drank from him and then knotted him for hours before sending Charles home. The memory of Erik’s mouth and his prick drew from him a low groan, and droplets of pearlescent liquid beaded and then started leaking down his chest. There was no way to hide or to deny his body’s response to months of rigorous conditioning, his every reaction sculpted by Erik’s own hands. Desire swelled as soon as warm lips teased at his nipples, and he bucked shamelessly when Kurt began kneading at his chest.

His stepfather chuckled, and nibbled his bottom lip. “Foolish boy,” he chided, ignoring Charles’ half-hearted efforts to tug free from the ropes. “You know there’s no need to suffer alone. I’d be happy to continue what that asshole started.”

“Kurt, no—“

A mouth closed around his nipple and sucked, skilled and ravenous, and he moaned at the jolt of pleasured pain that sent a naked shiver down his spine. He groaned again when his milk let down and started to flow, and writhed involuntarily when Kurt hummed around a mouthful of his flesh.

“Mmm…delicious.”

Kurt drank from him then, from one side to the next, gulping the milk that flooded his mouth with an almost joyful enthusiasm. It had become dangerously arousing over the past few months, and Charles often found it difficult to think while he was emptied. It was so easy to let go and enjoy the sensation, and eventually it wouldn’t matter at all that it was _Kurt_ who was doing the sucking.

And just as Charles began to relax he felt the fingers breach him - three fingers slotting deep in his cunt, slipping in with ease. He cried out and clenched tight around the unwelcome intrusion, and was horrified by the gush of warm slick that oozed lazily down his thighs. It was beyond shameful to be so stimulated by his stepfather’s touch, to gasp and quiver and bear down as he was methodically worked open. It was making him ache to be filled and drained at the same time; a craving that Erik had nurtured daily once he’d fully recovered from the birth.

“Did Lehnsherr do this to you?” Kurt asked, fingers slow and teasing as he stroked, mouthing wet kisses against Charles’ neck and throat. “Did he make you sopping wet like this with his fingers, boy?  Fuck you while he was drinking from your tits? Did you beg for it, like a filthy little whore? Beg him to fuck you ‘til you can’t remember your own name?”

“Fuck you—” he snapped, but Kurt quickly swallowed his words, taking his mouth in a kiss that was rough and possessive. Charles couldn’t breathe from the way he was being inhaled, as though Kurt wanted to devour and consume him whole. It distracted him from being roughly jostled and his legs thrown wide, and then – _oh_ , Kurt was shoving his cock into Charles’ cunt and spreading him open.

“C’mon…yeah… there’s a good boy.”

He sank all the way to the root, rough and deep, and laughed when Charles’ shocked cries turned swiftly into wanton groans. The cock was thick and swollen and filled every inch of him, and drove a surge of heady lust straight up his spine. It got better when Kurt started to rock in and out, light teasing strokes that had him arching for a better angle.

He _hated_ Kurt Marko with everything he had, and yet his body wanted it to _keep going_ and _never stop._

It would be easier if he could pretend it didn’t feel so good, or just lay back and ignore his body’s willing compliance. Instead he could only squirm and clench around that meaty shaft, as his stepfather teased him relentlessly to distraction. Charles thought he might actually beg if Kurt kept it up, the same way Erik always made him so desperate and needy, ‘til all he wanted was to take the alpha’s knot and come.

He bit his lip to hold the words back, which only made Kurt chuckle wickedly, and dig in until Charles let out a long and pitiful groan.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend, Charles. I know how much you like getting fucked. Lehnsherr told me all about it, in great detail, how you spread your legs for him day and night. He tells me you’re insatiable for cock, you little slut…and how I should get plenty of good use out of you, now that he’s gotten tired of your sweet cunt.”

“Lies! Erik would never—“

“Oh but he did,” Kurt interrupted with a lazy smile, hilting his cock with enough force to knock the breath from Charles’ lungs. “You really think he gives a shit about you, boy? Some omega he got on the cheap to make his wife happy? He paid for your virginity and bought out your baby, and then he couldn’t wait to send you packing.”

“It’s not like that,” Charles panted, as Kurt started moving steadily, digging in deep. He wanted to argue, that Erik would come and get him as soon as he’d taken care of things with Sebastian Shaw. It wasn’t love he understood, what Erik felt for him, but the man had made it clear that Charles belonged to him and him alone.

“God, you taste good,” Kurt said, and went back to his breasts, sucking great mouthfuls of milk as he pumped his hips. He was clearly done teasing and keen on seeking his pleasure, thrusting into him with increasingly deep and frenzied strokes. Charles could do nothing but submit to it, how good it was to be fucked and filled, and he keened when Kurt tossed his legs over his shoulders and started pounding him into the bed.

“Oh…yes…”

Kurt might have laughed again but Charles didn’t hear it - the pressing heat all but overwhelmed him, drowning him in a haze of pleasurable lust. He was made for this, Erik had told him often enough; beautiful in his surrender, total and complete.

When he came it was with his legs in the air and Kurt’s knot swelling inside of him, stretching him wide and making him keen. His clenching dragged Kurt with him over the edge, and his cunt was flooded with seed, wet and hot and sticky. It went on and on until Charles thought he might burst; his chest in contrast, was now gratifyingly empty.

Awareness came back to him in slow increments, to Kurt kissing him tenderly, and to gentle hands kneading his chest. It made Charles sick to his stomach, knowing what had just happened – what he’d _enjoyed,_ even unwillingly – with his own mother’s husband.

“Get off of me.”

Kurt tsked with amusement. “Temper, temper. We both know you liked it, and that you’ll like it just as much the next time I fuck you—”

“There’s not going to be a next time, you bastard. I’m going to tell Erik you raped me and he’s going to put a bullet in your head.”

Kurt laughed. “Lehnsherr’s a little busy at the moment, trying to fend off Sebastian Shaw. I suggest you get used to me in your bed, Charles, since it might be a while before you see Lehnsherr again. Who knows? Maybe he’ll still want you, if he hasn’t moved on to someone new.”

Charles scoffed. “Thanks but I think I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” Kurt said with a shrug, as though they were discussing the weather, and he wasn’t currently still buried inside Charles’ cunt. “I’ll just get what I need from your sister then, hmm? Maybe I don’t let that McCoy boy marry her after all. And she can just stay here and take my knot when I’m bored, if you’re so uninterested in the job.”

“Don’t you dare,” Charles snarled, twisting to try and buck Kurt off of him, so full of hate and loathing he wanted to scream. “Don’t you touch Raven, you hear me? Or I’ll kill you myself.”

But Kurt only looked at him, fondly amused, as though Charles was no more than a petulant child and said, “You won’t have to worry about Raven, if you just do as you’re told, boy. You always have, for the good of the family, haven’t you? And you always will.”

Charles closed his eyes, and didn’t bother to answer.

 

* * *

 

He got the call from Lehnsherr at exactly 9 am sharp, giving Kurt just enough time to see Charles again before sitting down to breakfast. The boy was still angry from last night, but gave in easily enough, and Kurt drained him and fucked him again until he was all but begging for more. Omegas were so susceptible when they were properly trained, and he had to thank Lehnsherr for doing such a fine job with Charles, before sending him home.

‘Course the man couldn’t have known that Kurt would be the one to benefit from his hard work.

“ _Marko_.”

“Mr. Lehnsherr, how are you? How’s your lovely wife.”

“ _Cut the bullshit_ ,” the man snapped, and Kurt had to suppress the urge to laugh at his posturing. “ _I’m calling to check on Charles_.”

Kurt smiled. “He’s fine. Settling back into the household and spending time with his sister. He asks about you of course, and I’ve told him to be patient. He knows this is just temporary, until things settle down.”

“ _The money is in your account_ ,” Lehnsherr continued, as though he hadn’t heard a word that Kurt said. “ _I trust you know what will happen if Charles is treated poorly, by you or that idiot you call ‘son’._ ”

That made Kurt smile even more, and he allowed himself a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, Mr. Lehnsherr; Charles is being well taken care of. I’ll make sure to give him what he needs, just as I promised.”

He hung up the phone and finished his breakfast, and thought about the rather hefty sum in his bank account. It was not a small amount that Lehnsherr paid for the surrogacy and his continued patronage, or what he believed to be exclusive rights to his lovely stepson. But Kurt Marko wasn’t afraid to take a risk here or there, especially if it meant making even _more_ money, and so he picked up his phone and dialed the number, and wondered how long he’d get to enjoy fucking Charles before the new deal fell into place.

The line connected, and a familiar voice answered, “I’ve been expecting your call.”

“Mr. Shaw,” he replied, “always a pleasure.”


	6. Mob AU - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt signs Charles up for a new surrogacy contract, putting him in the middle of a mob war between Erik and his nemesis Sebastian Shaw.
> 
> Tags: Non-con, lactation kink, Charles + 4 alphas, slut-shaming, exhibitionism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last bit of fic I'll be writing for this verse/kink; sorry if you were keen on some Charles/Erik action. I'm not ruling that out for the future; just saying that this is all that's currently planned thanks! :D

Kurt drank from him at least twice a day; just enough that he wasn’t in pain but not enough for any lasting relief. It kept his body in a perpetual state of low level arousal, something his stepfather was only too happy to exploit - with or without Charles’ consent.  

By the fourth day, he realized Erik wasn’t coming to get him.

By the fifth day, he stopped actively fighting Kurt’s advances.

By the third week, Charles began to lose hope that it would ever end, being used daily by his stepfather, and his sister none the wiser. With nowhere to go and no access to funds, Charles was essentially a prisoner in his own home. Escape meant leaving Raven to suffer in his place, something Charles wasn’t willing to risk, so close to her and Hank’s wedding. And contacting the police wasn’t an option either, since Charles was unmarried and therefore still legally bound to Kurt.

“We’re here.”

The car had stopped outside a nondescript building downtown, a luxury hi-rise condo that Charles had never seen before. Dread pooled in his gut as Kurt quickly opened the door, stepping out to greet the two men in dark suits waiting at the curb. These were not Erik’s people, Charles instantly knew, and he was not being taken back to the Lehnsherrs as he’d been promised.

No, Kurt had lied and like an idiot, he’d chosen to believe him.

An arm reached in and grabbed him before he could even think about running, yanking him from the car and onto the sidewalk. The jostling made his breasts start leaking like a faucet, and his face burned as twin wet spots started spreading through the thin material of his shirt. Kurt hadn’t bothered to drink from him since late last night, though he did take the time to fuck Charles on his hands and knees earlier in the morning.

“Let go of me! Where are you taking me?” he snarled.

Kurt laughed as he pulled a struggling Charles towards the building’s rotating front door, the men flanking them like hulking shadows. “We’re going to meet your new sponsor, boy. I’ve signed you up for a new surrogacy contract.”

“What? No!”

He was dragged, not quite kicking and screaming into the elevator, and shoved roughly against the wall. The slap that followed surprised more than it hurt, and he stopped struggling when Kurt grabbed one of his sore breasts and squeezed.

“It would be better for us both if you stopped trying to fight me, pretending you have any kind of say with what’s happening here. You’re an omega and that means I _own_ you in the eyes of the law, and I get to decide who fucks you and who gets to put a baby in you. And right now we’re going to meet a very powerful man who is willing to give me a lot of money for you, Charles, so--“

“Erik is going to come for me! You can’t just give me to--“

Kurt laughed. “Lehnsherr’s not the only game in town, boy. But don’t worry; I have a feeling you’re gonna be seeing him soon enough.”

And that could only mean one thing to Charles – that Kurt was taking him to Sebastian Shaw, Erik’s old boss and his biggest rival.

“No Kurt please,” he pleaded, even as the doors opened and they stepped out onto the penthouse floor. “You can’t do this. Shaw hates Erik…he’ll kill me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kurt scoffed, “you’re much more valuable to Shaw alive than dead. And I’m not some kind of savage…your surrogacy papers are filed properly with the government and even Shaw won’t risk the authorities breathing down his neck over a dead omega. You’re a bargaining chip against Lehnsherr that’s all, though I suggest you play your cards right and _behave_. No need to make things harder on yourself by pissing him off.”

The door opened as they approached, and Kurt led them in while the two guards waited in the hall. The interior of the penthouse was opulent in the most ostentatious of ways, a clear reflection he thought, of the owner himself. He wondered if Shaw was planning to use Charles as bait, to lure Erik into some kind of trap if he attempted a rescue...

If he had than Shaw had clearly overestimated his worth to Erik Lehnsherr, for the man had never expressed any feelings for Charles beyond that of surrogate and preferred bed mate.

“Hello Charles. Dad.”

“Cain, my boy. You look good.” Kurt answered, as Charles could only gape at the unexpected appearance of his stepbrother in the hall. He was supposed to be in the army and far away, and Charles couldn’t think of anything worse than seeing Cain _here_ of all places, in Sebastian Shaw’s home. “Is he ready to see us?”

“Yeah, follow me.”

 A second unpleasant surprise awaited him inside Shaw’s office, when Azazel – the man he knew as _Erik_ _’_ _s_ second in command – greeted them at the door. He gave Charles a wink as he ushered them in, and then yes; Sebastian Shaw was indeed behind the great oak desk, handsome and impeccable in a grey bespoke suit.

“Mr. Shaw, thank you for seeing us.”

“It’s Sebastian, please, and it’s definitely my pleasure! I’ve been looking forward to meeting Mr. Xavier now for quite some time.”

The man came around his desk and stood in front of them, his sharp blue eyes slowly blazing a trail along Charles’ body from head to toe. When they rested on the dark spots that stained the front of his shirt he smiled, his pupils going dark and wide.

Charles crossed his arms and swallowed his fears, tilting his chin defiantly and said, “Whatever he’s told you about me; it’s all lies. Yes, I carried Lehnsherr’s baby but that’s all. He won’t care that I’m here or what happens to me. I’m of absolutely no consequence to your mob war.”

Shaw threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused it seemed, by Charles’ declaration. “You never told me your stepson had such spirit, Kurt! And he’s quite attractive, isn’t he? All that pale skin and those lovely freckles…I think I’m going to like having him around.”

“You see now why Lehnsherr likes him so much? That and he’s a delightful little bitch in the sack.”

His instinct told him to make a run for it, and he took a step back from Shaw, slamming instead into Cain’s solid chest. He cried out as his arms were yanked roughly behind him, and closed his eyes when Kurt slapped him again and hissed, “I said _behave_.”

“Gently now,” Shaw chided, and the hold on him immediately loosened, though not enough for him to wriggle away. There was a pause, and then a hand cupped his cheek, softly caressing the spot where he’d been hit twice in the span of minutes. “You don’t need to be afraid, dear boy; I’m not going to hurt you. But I did sign a contract for an omega surrogate in good health…you understand that I have to ‘examine the goods’, don’t you?”

He knew what Shaw was capable of doing to him, despite his assurances, remembering Erik’s loathing for the man who raised him. Charles held his tongue for long moments while Shaw waited, until he finally let out a deep breath and reluctantly nodded.

“Good,” Shaw said, and his hands moved to the top of Charles’ shirt, unbuttoning him and pushing the material off his shoulders. He was leaking again, his breasts full and aching, and Charles thought he might die from mortification at being so exposed. It was a hundred times worse when Shaw touched him, tweaking his hard nipples and then kneading his flesh. And he couldn’t help groaning out loud when Shaw leaned in close and started licking, lapping the milk as it dribbled down his chest.

“It’s quite sweet,” the man said, and then he took more of Charles’ breast in his mouth and began sucking in earnest. The angle wasn’t quite right, and he was pulling too hard, but then Kurt reached over and started massaging him, and Charles sighed when the milk let down and started to flow. But he stopped after only a few mouthfuls, leaving Charles thoroughly humiliated and still uncomfortably full.

“Azazel,” the man said, and Charles stiffened, remembering the surprising presence in the room and what it meant for Erik. His former sponsor – or lover, at least from Charles’ perspective – was in far more danger than he knew, if Azazel was indeed on Shaw’s payroll. Though at the moment there was nothing he could do with the information, and could only hope that the others on Erik’s team would keep him safe.

“Tell me – is Erik very fond of Mr. Xavier? Did he enjoy his company often? Beyond what was needed to make a baby for his wife? Would he care that Charles was here now, knowing he’ll be staying on as my guest?”

Azazel snorted. “He saw Charles more than his own wife, and not just for fucking, but whenever he had free time to spare. They’d do it at home, in the car, at the office – didn’t matter. I say he’s at least a little bit obsessed, Sebastian…there’s no telling what he’s going to do when he finds out.”

“How splendid!” Shaw clapped his hands together and chuckled, clearly delighted with the news before directing his next question to Kurt. “And the other important item of note - is Charles likely to get pregnant any time soon? I mean while he’s still…”

“Lactating?” Kurt answered with a smirk. “As long his body keeps producing milk, there won’t be a baby to worry about. And he’ll keep producing as long as somebody’s feeding from him regularly.”

“How very enlightening,” Shaw replied, with such a predatory glint in his eye that Charles found himself squirming unconsciously against his stepbrother’s hold. “Now then, let’s get a better look at you, shall we? Lay him down.”

He was lifted without warning, and dropped unceremoniously on top of the desk, as Shaw cleared the surface of its clutter with a careless sweep of his hand. Cain pinned his arms above his head while the others crowded around him, with Shaw coming to rest between his spread thighs.

“Please—“

“Shh, it’s okay,” the man said, as his hands gently kneaded Charles’ ankle. “I promise, as long as you do as you’re told, it’s not going to hurt. Now, I’d prefer if I didn’t have to tie you down, Charles, but I will if you won’t cooperate. What do you say?”

He looked up at the faces arrayed above him – Shaw, with his benevolent smile and Cain’s hungry leer, to Kurt’s amused grin and Azazel’s quiet appraisal – and knew it would be pointless to put up a fight. No one was coming to save him; not the authorities, since Shaw had a perfectly legal contract, and certainly not Erik, who had a family to care for and a business to run. No, the only way to ensure his safety was to please Shaw and flatter his ego, and hope that this mob war wouldn’t eventually cost him his life.

Charles knew too, both from reputation and the hard glint in his eye that Sebastian Shaw would just as happily break him if he didn’t choose to comply. He had no choice but to give in and do what was asked, or risk having his body sent home to his sister in unrecognizable pieces. He took another deep breath and nodded again. “Yes, I'll...yes.”

“That is a very wise choice,” Shaw praised with mocking affection, as he continued massaging Charles’ legs, hands sliding up his thighs until his fingers grazed the edge of his opening. Charles closed his eyes and forced himself not to flinch, as Shaw rubbed him until his slick began to soak through both layers of pants and underwear. “Let’s see about making you more comfortable hmm? Boys, why don’t you two do the honors and help him out.”

A mouth closed on each breast before he even registered the words, enthusiastic sucking that had him arch up with a startled gasp. Cain and Azazel flanked him on either side of the desk, taking greedy gulps from him under Kurt’s encouragement and direction. The sudden let down and release winded him and made him lightheaded, and their eager touch -  mouths hot on his skin as their hands palmed and kneaded his flesh - slowly drained the coiled tension that had wracked his entire body.

He barely noticed it, when Shaw stripped him of his bottom half and started working him loose with his fingers.

Three fingers teased and twisted and made him moan, violating him as Shaw and Kurt traded banter over his naked body. They mused at how tight he still was, and how much he enjoyed his tits being sucked, while Azazel and Cain drank and chuckled gleefully as they worried his swollen nipples. And then Kurt added two fingers and started pumping, thrusting counter point with Shaw and splitting him wide open.

Charles bucked his hips and came with a shout, gushing slick around both sets of thick fingers buried in his cunt.

“That’s a good boy.”

They pulled out of him, and Kurt made a show of licking his hand, savoring the taste of Charles’ slick that was dripping from his fingers. He leaned down and lapped at the splattered come that covered Charles’ belly, moaning like he was enjoying a fine wine or the most delicious of meals.

Shaw smiled and then slammed in and buried his cock to the hilt.

It was terrible and also _perfect_ and oh how he _hated_ Erik Lehnsherr in that moment; for conditioning his body to crave pleasure, even – or _especially_ – while he was feeling so much shame and humiliation. Charles hated and wanted and was desperate for more; he thought he might die if they kept on fucking him…

It would be worse if they stopped.

But they _didn’t_ stop and they _kept_ _going_ , splayed on Shaw’s desk and spread out like a feast, all of them taking turns drinking from his breasts. Shaw especially took his time to appreciate and explore, pulling out and driving in, controlled movements that were rough but steady. They devoured him with eyes and mouths and grasping hands, delighting in the pleasure they forced on his willing body.

Charles had no idea how long it went on, nor was he aware of anything beyond every moment of bliss; that was until he heard the phone click onto speaker dial, and a voice he knew well answering with annoyance, “Fuck off. I told you, I’m not interested.”

He gasped and was promptly silenced, as Kurt shoved his entire prick into Charles’ mouth. The others continued to use him too even though he tensed and began to struggle, until Shaw squeezed his thigh in warning, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“So you keep saying, Erik,” Shaw said, tone light and airy, though his strokes were harder now with each new rock of his hips, “but I think you need to look at the bigger picture.”

“This again? Look, we’re done here, Shaw. Stop bothering me or you’re not going to like what I do next.”

Shaw chuckled, and his hands dug just a little deeper into Charles’ flesh. “It’s different this time, I promise. I have something I’d be willing to trade for your cooperation; something I _know_ that’s going to be of great interest to you.”

Erik scoffed. “You don’t have anything that I want. Not now, not ever. This conversation is over.”

The phone disconnected, but Shaw only laughed, thoroughly amused it seemed by Erik’s terse response. He lifted Charles’ legs and threw them over his shoulders, pressing in at just the right angle to make him clench down and shudder.

“I’ll bet he changes his tune,” Shaw purred, his thrusts faster and increasingly frenzied as Kurt fucked his aching throat, “once he realizes we’re talking about _you_ , pet. But don’t worry, we’re not in any rush, are we? We’ll take good care of you before we send you back to little Erik Lehnsherr.”

* * *

When they’re finally finished with him, Charles was bruised and sore all over, his chest empty and his cunt leaking seed all over Shaw’s desk.

He’d been knotted by Shaw as his stepfather came with a grunt, flooding his mouth with come that he had no choice but to swallow. By the time Shaw’s knot subsided, Cain had shot another load straight down his throat, while Azazel had jerked himself off and then spurted hot and sticky all over Charles’ breasts. He felt dirty and used and utterly helpless, and could only lay there, too exhausted to move as they admired their own handiwork.

Shaw chuckled and patted his head. “You did so well, my boy; absolute perfection. Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can get some rest. Cain, I trust you can take your stepbrother to his room and get him all settled?”

Cain snorted, lifting Charles - limp and unresisting - into his arms. “Oh I’ll give him what he needs all right.”

“Good,” he heard Shaw reply, as Cain turned and started carrying him away, “now we send Erik a video of our little chat and wait for his call.”


End file.
